


Circles

by meils121



Category: Leverage
Genre: Aftermath of Violence, Angst, Song Lyrics, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-18
Updated: 2018-12-18
Packaged: 2019-09-21 15:21:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,382
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17046128
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/meils121/pseuds/meils121
Summary: We’re running in circles.  Yeah, we’re running in circlesAnother job.  Another body.  Another job.  Another body.  The list of names and dates in Eliot’s head is getting longer.





	Circles

**Author's Note:**

  * For [poppetawoppet](https://archiveofourown.org/users/poppetawoppet/gifts).



_Hope is just a joke_

 

            This, Eliot knows too well.  He hoped that his mama would get better.  She’s in the ground now, in a cemetery Eliot hasn’t been able to visit in a decade.  He hoped the battles he fought would mean something.  But too many of his old buddies are six feet deep or battling demons in their own heads.  He hoped that the man he followed into the depths of hell would let him go. 

            But Moreau isn’t the sort of man anyone can say no to.  And Eliot rewinds his life and wonders where he went wrong, and sees too many possible answers.  So when Moreau calls him and says there’s a job that nobody else will take, a job that only Eliot is cold-hearted enough to do, Eliot doesn’t see any other option but to say yes.  

 

_We grab and choke it in the palm of our hand_

 

            Hope dies the day Eliot pulls that trigger.  It’s not the first time he’s done, will never be the last.  But it’s the worst.  A distant part of him is aware of crying and begging.  But most of him has already taken that hope of being a regular person again and crushed it.  So he ignores the pleas for help and pulls the trigger that one last time.

            After, he doesn’t even spare a moment to wonder why Moreau wanted this job done.  He doesn’t ask questions.  Not anymore.  No answer would make sense of what he just did.  So he throws the gun in the harbor along with the bloodstained gloves.  He picks up a burner and dials a number that’s burned behind his eyes.  

            “It’s done.”  He says. 

            “Payment will be in your account by morning.”  Moreau answers.  “It’s been a pleasure, Spencer.”

            A pleasure.  Eliot’s stomach rolls.  His throat tightens.  No, never a pleasure.  It’s a job, a duty.  Payment for staying alive a few more weeks.  That’s it. 

            Moreau always had a way of making Eliot realize what he’s done.  He breaks down the protective walls with a smug smile and destroys barriers with a couple of words.  Eliot breaks down in the privacy of his tiny walkup, tears tracking down his cheeks in a feeble attempt to wash away his sins.  

           

_We fake it till we make it just to break it like it’s part of the plan_

 

            Eliot’s good at pretending.  He gets up each day and pretends it doesn’t hurt.  He buys his morning coffee and pretends that having a good day isn’t some impossible task.  He pretends that -

            He stops pretending.  Or, more accurately, he pretends so much he forgets that he is.  Because someone is offering him a lifeline and for the first time in years Eliot decides to take it.

            The man’s name is Toby.  He’s a chef, he says, when Eliot asks him.  Eliot doesn’t know what made him stop into that restaurant on that particular day, but it’s a good thing he did.  Toby offers to help him.  Eliot hasn’t had that kind of offer - the one with nothing attached, the one that comes from the goodness of someone’s heart rather than the need to get something from the other person - since he was a fresh-eyed recruit.  

            Cooking is good.  Eliot can hold a knife and not use it to harm someone.  He lets Toby move his fingers so he’s gripping it in a non-lethal way.  He’s never thought about using a knife that way before. 

            The days turn to weeks turn to months.  Toby hires Eliot, tells him that he’s passed the test.  The last time someone told him that, it was one of Moreau’s men and Eliot was covered in blood.  He flinches.  Toby doesn’t notice.  Or maybe he does and Eliot doesn’t know what pity looks like anymore.  

            The restaurant is often busy.  It’s a neighborhood hangout.  Eliot almost believes he’s fallen into a good life, one that involves greeting the regulars and grilling and sauteing and generally just being a regular guy.

            Eliot’s bad at pretending.  He forgets that he’s not this harmless person.  He forgets he’s not a good guy.  And Moreau reminds him, walking in the door of the restaurant one afternoon and sitting down at one of the tables and telling Toby that he can either walk out the door right now or he’ll be burned to the ground along with his restaurant.  

            Eliot watches Toby leave and knows his only chance has failed.  Moreau makes him watch as the restaurant goes up in flames.  Eliot watches as the life he wished for disappears in a matter of minutes.  Then he turns to Moreau. 

            “What’s the job?”

 

_We’re running in circles.  Yeah, we’re running in circles_

 

            Another job.  Another body.  Another job.  Another body.  The list of names and dates in Eliot’s head is getting longer.  

            It’s unending.  Moreau knows better now.  Keeps him on a short leash.  And Eliot knows why.  There’s a line between useful and too useful, between knowing and understanding.  He’s crossed both lines, well past the point where Moreau can let him go but too dangerous to let him operate on his own.  Eliot’s been without any sort of handler for years and he doesn’t like having someone watching his every move.  But Moreau let him live and that’s almost a fate worse than death.

            Another job.  Another body.  He’s getting tired.  

 

_It’s in under the skin we scratch and itch and tear each other apart_

 

            Eliot understands now.  Who he is now isn’t some mutation.  It’s who he was always going to be.  His mama did used to say God had a plan for him.  It turns out she was right.  It’s just that his plan is full of death and destruction and the sort of pain that makes his heart hurt and soul feel empty.  

            He hates himself.  Even when - finally - Moreau sets him free.  He feels like a bird that’s been caged too long.  He doesn’t know how to fly anymore. 

            He stumbles from job to job, only this time he doesn’t have to kill.  Maim, maybe, but his victims are alive.  And he shouldn’t be so surprised that now that Moreau’s let him go, there are plenty of other bad guys out there looking for someone with no conscious.  

            It hurts.  He wants to rip the hurt out of his body, only that’s impossible and he’s left stumbling through life knowing that he’ll never be more than a shell of what he once was.  

 

_Then pull each other up, brush off the dust and stagger back to the start_

 

            Finding the others - landing on both feet and finding himself surrounded by a readymade team - is a surprise.  But Eliot knows a lifeline when he sees one.  So he picks himself up.  He shuts the bad memories in the back of his mind and locks them away.  He learns how to be human again, how to tolerate and understand and care.  It hurts almost as much as it did when he lost all that.  He’s got a new beginning, a second chance, and it’s just - too much.  He doesn’t deserve it. 

            But the months start to pass, and it’s been a few years now and Eliot’s starting to think he’s okay.  That he can actually put that old life behind him.  He’s happy, really, until Moreau shows up in his life once again.  

            Old Eliot - the Eliot that worked for Moreau - didn’t have feelings.  But Eliot has them now, and he’s struck with fear and anger and grief in a way he hasn’t felt since he was a kid and his mama was dying.  Moreau takes one look at him and _knows_.  

           

_We could make our way through hell/but we keep tripping on ourselves_

 

            It would be so satisfying to put a bullet through Moreau’s head.  He doesn’t.  He stands still as Hardison struggles to free himself in time and wonders if he’s about to add another name to his list.  He’s his own worst enemy, after all.  A curse on himself.  And when Moreau walks out of the room, Eliot is left feeling like he’s signed death warrants for the whole team.  

 

_We’re running in circles.  Yeah, we’re running in circles_

 

            Another job.  Time will tell if there’s another body.

 

**Author's Note:**

> I chose the angst prompt! I hope I did the song justice, because it fits Eliot so well.
> 
> Lyrics are from Circles by David Cook.


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